


Stars in the Firmament

by vesuviannights



Series: Green Line Killers [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Also some mirror fucking, And lots of praise and dirty talk, F/M, Female Reader, More angst again, Polyamory, Though really what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20199973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: After the events of the solstice celebrations, Asra and you must figure out exactly where you stand with each other, and how Lucio - your other lover, Asra's greatest struggle - fits into it all. Starts as an angsty discussion, ends with 2500+ words of delicious fucking filth.





	Stars in the Firmament

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my previous Lucio/You/Asra work, 'Caught Between the Tides'. It was also written for the smutty drabble challenge on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights), using the prompt "open your eyes, I want you to watch me fuck your tight little hole" with Asra.

You don’t figure yourselves out fast enough. The party dies around you, almost as fast and as cruelly as each set of words that you try to build up in your throat fall away the moment you lock eyes with Asra to voice them.

You had never touched him before tonight. Had never tried to go beyond your too-long looks over the shoulders of customers who browsed your shop, or the matching twinkle in your eye as you split a loaf of Salasi’s bread and moaned softly at the warmth of it.

You had always thought, while trying to violently shove down your tight throat and wrangle your thumping heart back into its cage, that the kind of love Asra had to offer you was something you were not allowed to keep. That perhaps his kind of love, so pure and wonderful and undemanding, was best given to someone else.

When the servants have doused the last of the candle flames in the hall, you choose to move upstairs to the guest room that had been prepared for you earlier that morning. A more logical choice would be to return to the shop, but at least the sanctuary of your own room at the palace comes with the possibility that the other one of you will have the sense not to remain here after what has occurred between its walls.

You draw a bath and begin to undress, laying your crumpled dress across the back of the armchair in the corner, pulling jewellery and pins from every part of your body. Steam fills the room and warms your skin, lulling you into a dream-like haze that almost has you convinced you should stop the bath and go to bed instead.

The warmth of the bath and the growing plumes of bubbles win out, though. You step over the lip of the tub, sighing softly as your foot, calf, knee, all sink into the warmth. Your other leg follows, then your hips, waist, breasts, until all of you up to your nose is submerged and enveloped in the rich aromas of the soaps always left for you in the guest rooms you occupy. 

You nudge the faucet with your toe until the water stops, and are left with the silence of the room around you, broken only by the slosh of water echoing off the marble as you settle in to find your comfortable spot. At your hips, the place where Lucio held you while he fucked you stings a little from the heat of the water. Between your legs aches in the best of ways from his attentions, much like every muscle in your body will for the days to come.

And you can still taste Asra on your lips, feel the weight of him in your hands as he twitches and moans. The stickiness of his seed over your hand, your stomach, your thighs, still there for so many minutes after Lucio had left, before you had managed to shakily get to your feet and take yourself to the bathroom to wipe yourself down. Asra had watched you in the doorway, silent and unreadable, before stepping away and vanishing into the night.

As though summoned by your thoughts, you hear Asra’s voice calling your name in the soft, warm way that he always does. You turn your head toward the door, leaning it against the side of the tub as you contemplate stepping out and going to him, or perhaps remaining here and making him come to you—or, the final and most cruel option of pretending you aren’t here at all, even though you both know you are.

The half of your heart that has perhaps always belonged to Asra wins out, and you call out to him with a soft and barely-audible _in here_. He hears it, though it takes a few moments for his footsteps to begin in your direction. 

He appears in the doorway, no longer in his clothes from the night’s festivities but back in his familiar linen shirt and trousers. He folds his arms and leans against the door, his gaze directed downward, to a point on the ground some 5 feet from where your naked body is slowly becoming exposed by the fading bubbles of the tub. 

You are the first to speak. “I thought you would be at the shop.”

“I was,” he admits. “And then I walked. For a long time. I even thought about packing a satchel and taking leave again.”

You try not to let his admission hurt. You know he didn’t say it or intend it in that way, more to make sure that he was being honest with himself and most importantly, you.

You adjust your position in the tub, eyes going back to the fading plumes of bubbles as they linger on the surface. You bring a hand up to touch a collection just by the edge, watching them expand and turn a lovely shade of dusty rose as your magic seeps into them.

From the doorway, you hear Asra murmur his approval. You jerk a little as you lift your head to look at him, jostling the water and colourful bubbles around you, and through your wide, slightly worried eyes, you see that he is finally looking at you, that same wonder and affection that has always been there flickering in his violet gaze. 

“You are always my favourite thing to see in the morning,” he says softly. “And what I prefer to see before I sleep, if I can. I thought that no matter what came of this conversation, at least if I returned to the palace, I would have that.”

“You will _always_ have that.” Then, even though your heart is lodged in your throat at the idea that you must speak about it, you exhale slowly and keep going. “Asra?”

“Yes?”

You pause before you say it, your words a little too thick in your throat. Your pause becomes longer, and longer, and longer, until he seems to understand in the same moment you do that you can’t get your question out.

He steps away from the door and begins toward you. You watch as he draws closer, arms folded over the edge of the tub, until he is close enough that he might very well be within your reach any moment.

“You stayed!”

Your words come out rushed, a little too loud, as though you were both forcing them out before you changed your mind, and using them to stop him in his tracks before he got too close. 

He smiles at you, slowing his step a few feet away. His gaze is soft, eyebrow quirked. “Is that a question?”

“You stayed,” you repeat, this time far more even and sure. “When I asked, you stayed. And when Lucio said I was allowed to love you, you stayed.” You swallow. “You’re usually the one who leaves.”

“You have always been allowed to love me,” he answers, ignoring your last few words. “But that isn’t what he said.”

_If you must have him, then you can. _Those had been Lucio’s words. And Asra’s understanding of them, as well as the words that followed after, was clear. 

“He said he wants me _loved_. Cared for. You give me both of those things.” He shifts, unusually uncomfortable under your gaze and words. “You have _always_ given me both of those things.”

Asra contemplates your words, seemingly replaying the same words over in his own mind.

“Lucio meant what he said,” he tells you. “He’s an asshole, but he isn’t cruel, and certainly not to you. He respects you.” And then his voice drops a little, but his eyes stay locked on yours as he murmurs, “He maybe even loves you.” 

“But you don’t deserve to love me, too?” 

You wait for Asra’s answer, for his movement, almost fearing it won’t be what you hope for. The silence stretches too long, and you feel your words fighting up through your throat again, so much more insistent than any have been during your entire exchange.

“I do love you,” Asra finally answers. “And I always have, and I am honoured to be deserving of it. But I won’t steal your love away from someone else for myself, not when you are so happy with him.”

“But it doesn’t have to be me and Lucio. It can be you and me, too.” And then you say, so softly you almost don’t catch your own words, “It can be all of us.” 

Asra watches you for a few quiet moments. When you think that he perhaps won’t agree, or still doesn’t believe you, he instead smiles at you, his eyes warming as he takes you in. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“I mean it,” you insist.

“And so do I.”

You blink, and the sight of you so surprised at his agreement must amuse him, because his smile becomes a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes as he comes forward to stand over the bath and offer his hand. 

“Come here, my love.”

Without a breath you take it and draw yourself up, stepping out onto the plush rug, dripping and flushed. You flatten your palms against his abdomen and slowly slide them up his body, until the tips curl against the exposed skin of his collar bones.

There, you trace the lines, the tiny freckle waiting on the edge of the left bone. He seems to still against you, wanting to feel every touch and movement. He closes his eyes and exhales, and you take that as your chance to seize his lips in a kiss.

You can still taste some of the night’s festivities on him as you sweep your tongue through his mouth. The mulled Nevivon wine he had been drinking, the dried fruits he had been snacking on while people-watching with you—before Lucio had stolen you away, before he had planted the two of you inside that room for Asra to find.

Asra’s palm flattens against your lower back and presses you into his body. You can already feel the heat of him through his trousers, and you roll your hips forward in a slow, delicate movement that has him breaking away from your kiss to release a soft groan.

“I want to feel _every_ part of you this time,” you tell him, repeating your actions once more. This time, his grip on your waist tightens, and he buries his face into your neck, grazing his teeth against your pulse before soothing it with the flat of his tongue.

“_Please_, Asra—” You gasp out. Another roll of your hips, another graze of his teeth and sweep of his tongue. “I want to taste you, I want to feel you stretching and fucking me as I scream out—_ah—_” You cry out as he lifts your knee to his hip, exposing your aching pussy for him to grind against. 

“Is that all you want, my love?” He asks, his soft words belying his almost primal grinding, as though he could find his release just by pressing his still-clothed cock up against you. “Tell me everything, each and every desire and thought you have ever held about me, and I’ll prove that they were never anywhere as good as the truth of me.” 

Before he has even given you a chance to finish your list of demands, he is pulling you—lips still at the curve of your neck, stumbling as he tries to move you back fast enough—into the bedroom and toward the bed. 

There, he turns you until you fall back into the duvet, pausing only to rake his eyes over the length of your naked body, still damp from the water of the bath, glistening in the candlelight. You see his throat bob as he swallows, and you push yourself up onto your elbows, waiting for his next move. 

He reaches over his shoulder, bunching the fabric of his shirt and pulling it over his head, exposing his taut chest. The muscles of his arms and abdomen ripple as he moves, tighten and melt as he eyes you over again.

He climbs onto you, eclipsing your body from the light of the room as he takes your lips again in soft, slow pulls. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, sucks gently on it to sooth the swelling.

“I know you want to taste me,” he murmurs against you. His words are accompanied by a roll of his cock against you, your legs already spread to welcome him as he settles his hips between them. “But _I_ need to know the exact taste of you as you writhe and shiver beneath me, as you beg for me to do more. I’m going to fuck you with my fingers, with my tongue, suck on that needy little clit and have you screaming and sobbing for the entire palace to hear.”

You barely recognise the words you speak, the agreement, the encouragement. His own words have you whimpering, crying out as he begins to move down your body with soft kisses and purposeful touches. Your stiff, aching nipples. The sensitive stretch of skin just below your belly button. The inside of your thighs, the muscles beneath trembling with anticipation. 

You want to feel every part of him, you want to devour him whole. If he spends forever between your legs and gives you every ounce of attention and affection and love he is capable of, then you will have both of those things and so much more.

He traces your seam with the flat of his tongue, lapping up every drop of your arousal along the way. He parts your folds, explores every inch of what he has exposed with teasing movements of his tongue, the tip of which never quite reaches your clit.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you try to pull him up just a little higher. He laughs against you, the sound telling you that it is all for a purpose, that he is enjoying your squirming as he avoids your needy little bud, that the building sighs of frustration and the begging words building in your throat are all he wants to hear.

As his tongue and lips explore you, he brings a hand up to your lips, offering you his fingers. You take two between your lips and suck, greedy and desperate, wrapping your tongue around each digit. You watch as his shoulders roll and shiver at the feel of it, something so simple, and you are suddenly so hungry for more of him, for the taste of his cock as you suck its swollen tip, the saltiness as you lick a single, clean line from his base to tip.

You were denied the taste of it when Lucio was fucking you, when you could do nothing more than move your hand over his length and let him come all over it. You had wanted to taste him, the saltiness, the heat, wanted him to dig his fingers into your hair and hold you there as he begged for more and told you how wonderful it felt, just like you were doing to him now. But you had been denied that chance, and your feral hunger is the consequence of that.

You are so blinded by your own desires, your own wild thoughts, that you don’t realise exactly how close you are to coming until Asra pulls his tongue away and slips his fingers from your lips. You cry out, eyes stinging in frustration, and even as he moves up your body to come back to you it still doesn’t fade.

“Would you like to taste yourself?” He asks. He nuzzles into your neck with his nose, letting out a soft laugh as you release a frustrated groan. “You taste so good, my love. I’m sorry I stopped, but when I make you scream, it’s going to be around my cock while your pussy milks every last drop of my come.” 

And fuck, if you hadn’t been so frustrated, so tightly wound, you might have come from his words alone. You don’t argue when he kisses you, when he gives you a taste of your own arousal—a little sour, a musk that lingers on your tongue even after he pulls away. 

“Sit up for me. I want you on your hands and knees.”

You nod and shift back on the bed, rolling onto your stomach and pressing yourself up onto your hands and knees as requested. Asra is kneeling behind you, the hot length of him hanging between you as he leans forward to kiss your shoulder blade. You push your hips back into him, moaning softly as his hard cock drags along your aching pussy. Every joint in your body shakes, and it is an effort to keep yourself upright. To not collapse and beg for it.

He moves with his fingers first, testing your arousal, exploring you, stretching you out with gently scissoring movements. His other hand smooths down your back, tracing the line of your spine, moving over the curve of your ass.

And then he finally, _finally_, begins to push into you. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, a careful and gentle movement as he watches and waits for your response.

“_Yes!_” You hiss. “F-f_uck_, Asra—” Your arms shake beneath you, and his hand comes to your hip as though to steady you as he inches in a little further.

The feeling of him stretching you out, so slowly and so deep, is so exquisite, so different to Lucio’s preferred way of taking you all at once, making you cry out and gasp with barely enough time to recover from the stretch before he begins bouncing you—a shuddering, already babbling mess—on his thick cock. 

Asra, as he begins fucking you with long, deep strokes, feels as though he wants everything you will give him in any way he can take it, as though the affections of your touch might expire at any moment.

And he is there with you in each of them, murmuring to you, praising you with happy little sighs. The sheets are gathered between your fingers, and you stretch them out in front of you, dropping your chest as close to the mattress as you can to try and take him a little deeper.

“No no, open your eyes, my love,” he groans. “I need you to watch me fuck your tight little hole." 

Face pressed into the sheets, you whimper at his words, at the sound of his hips slapping into yours, the wetness of your pussy as he slides in and out, the feel of your arousal dripping down your thighs.

Arms shaking, you press yourself up, Asra’s movements pausing as he helps you to your knees, your back to his chest. He tangles your hands in his hair for leverage, kisses you as his hands smooth over your aching breasts and down your abdomen to hold your hips.

“Look at us,” he tells you. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes darting away from you.

You follow his gaze to catch sight of yourself in the floor-length mirror, your face and chest flushed, thighs quaking even though he has stilled inside of you. Your fingers are in his hair, his soft locks twisted in their grasp. His eyes are shades darker in the low light, a storm as they take in your form as greedily as you are taking in his.

You watch with parted lips as he starts to moves in and out of you again, stretching your hole, wetness running down your thigh and onto the sheets of the guest bed. The new angle has him hitting your g-spot almost every thrust, makes your pussy feel so much tighter and fuller than before.

You briefly, so briefly, think of whether one of the servants will tell Lucio what happened here when they find the wet sheets. What he will think of you and Asra making love in one of the rooms of his palace without him knowing, even though he told you that you could have Asra, even though he said he wanted you loved, and happy, and _oh_, do you feel both of those things in almost unbearable waves right now.

You tilt your head back to find his mouth again, making long sweeping movements of your tongue as your thighs begin trembling, and you have to pull his hair a little harder to keep up. He hisses in your ear, his gaze locking with yours in the mirror.

“You are so wonderful, my love,” he murmurs into your ear. One hand comes up to cup your breast, squeezing lightly as he drags his thumb lazily over your nipple. “So warm and soft around me. The sight of you with your hooded eyes, your flushed cheeks, the tremble of your thighs—”

They do just that as he drops his hips a little, changing the angle and causing you to cry out. You reach down to part your folds, finding your swollen clit and beginning to draw haphazard circles over and around it.

“What do you need, my love?” He asks, as you moan in frustration, too needy yet too impatient for what you want. “Tell me what you need.”

“I want to ride you!” You gasp out. “Please let me be on top, I want all of you.”

He nods, kissing you once more as he pulls out. You cry out at the loss of him, even though it is only a few more moments as he turns you and settles himself back against the headboard. You are straddling his hips, and kissing him so greedily as you grind down along the length of him, then reach down to align the head of his cock with your aching pussy and sink down onto him.

You have to pause for a moment. The feeling of him filling you so wholly, so completely after needing it for so long, causes your vision to blur. He sits up a little straighter to cup the back of your head and kiss you, murmuring his affections. 

Pulling back, you lean back on your hands, shifting your weight until you are able to finally start moving. He takes a nipple into his warm mouth as you begin to bounce on his cock, his fingers moving down to your clit, drawing slow and sure circles.

He gasps and groans into your breasts, his hands shaking everywhere they touch you as he praises you. “That feels so good, my love—yes, _yes—_”

Just before you feel yourself crash, you lurch forward to tug his head back and smash your lips to his.

The kiss does nothing to hide your screams as you crash, as you pulse and squeeze around him, as your entire body seems to collapse in on itself. He groans at the feel of you, his own breaths short, a little high-pitched, and when you’re still collapsing around him he lays you back and thrusts into you, hurried and uneven and desperate. He pulls out at the last moment, his seed covering your stomach and thighs as he groans, his arms shaking from the effort of keeping himself up.

Your eyes are stinging, the world is blurring, and for several blissful moments—or perhaps many, many hours—you have forgotten yourself, your name, every spell you have ever whispered. You are only vaguely aware of him collapsing onto the bed beside you, wide-eyed, trying to catch his own breath.

As time passes in its strange, vague chunks, you doze in and out, the candles burning down to stubs around you, Asra pulling you in to curl into his side. You think you murmur something about cleaning up. You know either of you could do it with another murmur at the drop of a hat, if only you had the energy.

He presses a kiss to your temple, an action which rouses you just enough to keep your eyes open and on him. You part your lips to speak, but before a single word can escape your throat, there is a creaking groan as the door opens, followed by the click of boots on the marble floor.

Lucio croons at the sight of you, sparing no inch of sweaty, glistening skin from his gaze as he comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, each hand curling around the posts. His eyes rake down your body, the glint in them feral, as though he might devour you whole in any moment. When he speaks, his tone is almost predatory in its stillness, and though his words are directed at Asra, you know that they are for both of you.

“How very wonderful to hear, my dearest magician, that you can make my pet scream just as loudly as I.”


End file.
